Strength
by Cactus101
Summary: This was written as a follow-up to Monsters.
1. Strength

Strength

Disclaimers: I do not, and have never owned any part of Third Watch.

A/N: This was written at the end of last season as a follow-up to Monsters. Originally, it was a stand-alone piece that evolved into three parts due to the wonderful feedback from the readers at 55 David.

Enjoy

Cactus

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Silence blankets us after the storm.

An eeriness covers me and my fear prevents me from looking up.

For one of the few times in my life, I don't feel like I have the strength to make a move. I don't have the strength to expose myself and make myself a target of these gunmen. I lie as still as I can, waiting for something else to happen.

I hold my breath and wait.

There is no other sound and my thoughts turn to Emily and Charlie. They still need me and I can't take a chance with my life. My kids need their mom not a hero.

Each second seems eternal. I force myself to be still, not sure if someone is waiting to fire again.

I suddenly realize that I don't feel any pain. Without moving, I try to take stock of my limbs. I move one of my fingers and wiggle my toes in my shoes. I am unharmed, as far as I can tell.

Maybe, it's the shock that makes me unfeeling to my injuries. I can't imagine not being hurt during that barrage of bullets that sprayed the room.

I remain still. I wait and hope and pray that these men are gone, that this nightmare is over, for now.

I hold my breath as I hear the crackling sound of glass when it falls from the divider window. I wonder if someone is there, waiting.

I close my eyes and swallow my next breath. My ears are tuned to every sound in the room.

I hear someone moving. Fabric scrapes against tile and glass shards and a soft moan. I recognize Ty. I can't see him from my vantage point but and I can imagine him slitting open his eyes and gasping softly as he takes in the scene. He doesn't speak, but I can tell he's brushing the glass and splinters out of his hair and face. His breathing intensifies as he tries to push himself up from the floor.

"Faith," He calls out.

Ty's voice seems small and far away and when I don't answer he calls out to someone else.

"Bosco."

I wait and listen. There is no answer from Bosco either and no sound of the gunmen. My gut tells me I need to get up.

I try to roll over and as much as I don't think I'm injured, my body protests against this movement. I realize that the chair is partially covering me. I push at it weakly and manage to shove it aside as my body rolls to my left and towards the window.

I stare up at the open hole and freeze for a moment as my eyes search for the gunmen. They are no longer here.

I watch Ty struggle to sit up. When he can't seem to get up from the floor, I tell him to stay down.

My eyes instinctively search for Bosco and I see him lying on his back, staring back at me, his eyes never leaving my gaze.

The strength in his eyes is unbelievably true. I feel protected and safe and I know he pushed me out of the way when the bullets came.

It was his strength that saved my life.

I smile and blink my thanks to him because words cannot describe the gift he's given my children.

I wait for him to gruffly sit up and ignore my gesture, to brush it aside with embarrassment the way he always does. But this time his gaze doesn't falter.

I see the strength of his convictions in his look. He wants me to know, he did this for me. He wants me to know, he'd do it again.

His eyes never break their hold on me and I can only imagine the strength it took to never let me go while I pushed him away during the months I was recovering.

I notice the stillness of his body, the shallowness of his breaths and the blood trickling out of the side of his mouth.

I reach out for him, grab his hand and squeeze it, but he does not reciprocate my gesture.

"Bos," I whisper as I lean in over him. "Bos..." I look deep into his soul as his blue eyes darken.

I pull open his jacket and see the crimson red staining his blue shirt. I rip the shirt apart at the buttons and gasp at the size of the gaping wound, an exit wound. My hands tremble as they hover over the carnage. I remove my jacket and gently try to stem the flow of blood.

I look down at his unmoving form. He should be screaming with pain but when I look back at him all I see is his strength and I can't allow myself to let this moment pass.

"We're even, okay?" I say apologetically because I know he's paid me back more than he'll ever know.

He doesn't seem to get any solace from my words and I feel the need to say so much more. I feel my fingers clamping down on my jacket, forcing down on his chest and in my struggle to keep myself together, I finally understand what he need sto hear from me.

"All is forgiven, Bos," I whisper hoarsely, my eyes watering as the strength wanes from his gaze.

I'd never told him before. Even when I came back, I gave him some excuse why we had to ride again but I had never actually forgiven him. In the end it was the only thing he wanted from me.

I note the relief in his eyes and I realize that for Bosco, it was enough that he saved me and that I'd forgiven him.

He doesn't try to talk. He doesn't try to save himself. He blinks once in acknowledgement and allows his eyes to close slowly.

TBC...


	2. When Strength Fades

When Strength Fades

Disclaimers: I do not, and have never owned any part of Third Watch.

A/N: This was written at the end of last season as a follow-up to Monsters. Originally, it was a stand-alone piece that evolved into three parts due to the wonderful feedback from the readers at 55 David.

Enjoy

Cactus

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The last few hours have been unbelievably exhausting. Everyone and everything is trying to make me lose my focus, to intrude into my thoughts, to veer me away from my one priority. They try to console me with hugs and looks. They bring me coffee and sandwiches. They sit quietly at my side.

I push them all away because I can only think about one thing right now – Bosco.

The doctors and nurses are all trying to shelter me from what they think is the inevitable. They hint at how horrible the wound is, how difficult the surgery is, and how much blood he's lost.

They don't know Bosco. They don't understand his strength. They haven't seen him chase a perp endlessly because he won't allow anyone to get away from him. They haven't seen him comfort an abused child when all he really wanted to do is beat the crap out of the parents. They've never seen how much he will give of himself to help a victim.

They have no idea how much strength is contained in one man.

They only know numbers and jargon; BP 90 over 60, resps 12, pulse 120, 8 litres of O neg, on and on.

These things are meaningless to me. I need to know real things. I need to know if he'll ever strut into the locker room beaming about something he's got himself into. I need to know if he'll ever pull those asinine pranks on the bucket boys or Sully. I need to know if he'll ever look at me and know exactly what I'm thinking. I need so much more than what those numbers say.

I need his strength to get me through whatever comes next.

I bury my face in my hands and allow myself to cry. I finally realize how unfair life is, how no matter what you do bad things happen to good people. I cry because I may have lost the one true friend I've ever had.

I sense someone standing over me. I slowly wipe my cheeks and look up to see Mary Proctor. Her expression is unreadable.

I don't dare ask, I allow her to take her time, I allow myself one more moment of hope.

"He's out of surgery. I'll take you up to the ICU," she says as she takes my hand.

Her grip is strong. She pulls me up out of my darkness as she smiles at me and holds me close.

"How is he?" I manage to eke out.

Her eyes drop down and an unfathomable sadness fills them. She doesn't have the courage to tell me that she doesn't think he'll make it. "The doctor...he'll explain..." she starts haltingly but stops when I turn away and stare straight ahead.

Tears fill my eyes and cloud my vision. Suddenly all my hopes and dreams are as blurred as my eyesight. Fred and the kids, Bosco, my job...they all seem so far away and my soul fills with an immense emptiness.

The next thing I remember is the glow of the heart monitor. I don't recall how I got into his room or what the doctor said. I stand motionless as I watch the line jump and beep with every beat of his heart. The beeping keeps time with the whooshes from the ventilator.

I make my way over to the bed and stare down at his still form. All colour is drained from his face and he looks devoid of any semblance to the Bosco I know. I tentatively run my hand over his arm. Slowly I make my way down toward his wrist. I pause before allowing my fingers to caress the area just above his hand.

My breath catches. There, I feel it, the bump that comes up when he turns his hand a certain way. Bosco broke his wrist when he was a kid and I guess they never set it right because he still has that bump to show for it.

But I don't stop there. I reach over and feel under his chin. My fingers scrape lightly over his unshaven face and once again I feel my spirit lift when I touch the scar tissue running there in a half moon shape.

I feel better now, like these things prove to me that this is really the Bosco I know.

I grab a chair and sit next to the bed. I don't let go of him. I want him to know I'm here. Minutes turn into hours. Doctors and nurses come and go constantly. I'm almost immune to their presence.

My chin rests on my forearms and my eyes are locked on Bosco, and then someone enters the room, but this time whomever has come in waits by the door.

The seconds tick by and I feel the need to look back. I lift my head and turn slowly; an elderly priest stands by the door.

"I've come to offer last rites," he says compassionately.

I feel my heart dissolve under the weight of his words and my anguish cannot be contained within my body. I turn back to look at Bosco and the reality of the situation hits me hard. I feel myself shaking and sobbing uncontrollably, as I weep over him. Suddenly strong arms envelope and comfort me and for the briefest of moments I let myself think that it is Bosco holding me.

The priest slowly lets me go and pulls me back into the chair. Then he begins administering last rites. A calm comes over me at seeing the compassion and love flowing from this old man.

The scene unfolding before me is hauntingly beautiful, like a ballet. The priest dips his finger in oil and makes the sign of he cross on Bosco's head, hands and feet. I stare in rapture as he gently murmurs prayers over Bosco's still form.

The priest finishes and comes to stand behind me. He places a hand on my shoulder and allows his healing touch to permeate my body.

"Sometimes," he says quietly, "love is not enough to save a man when his strength has faded."

I look back and stare into the most amazing brown eyes I've ever seen and in that instant I seem to understand everything he's trying to tell me.

I nod my head and turn back to Bosco as I listen to the sound of the door opening and the priest exiting quietly.

I stand and pull his hand up to my lips as I gently kiss his knuckles. These hands that protected me from danger now need my protection.

I brush the hair back from his face and trace his lips and eyes with my fingers. His beautiful eyes always looked out for, always searched for me, always cared for me.

I lean over the bed and kiss them too.

I tell him about Fred, about the kids, about the doctors and nurses, and about my fears. I tell him everything because he is my best friend.

I remember Bosco's word from a lifetime ago and I feel the desperation in my voice that he must have felt when he told me I was the only one. I lean over and tell him the same thing. "Bosco, I need you...you're the only one...you've always been the only one...I need you."

I feel his fingers tighten around mine in an unmistakable sign that he understands and that he'll fight to stay with me.

I squeeze back and lean over and kiss him on the forehead as I breathe a sigh of relief.

I feel my heart soar as he continues to squeeze my hand in defiance of what all the doctors and nurses believed.

I finally understand that the priest was right. Love is not enough. Because when strength fades and when love wanes, man needs hope...and I tell him over and over how much I need him, that I'll never leave, that I've always loved him and that I always will.

TBC...


	3. Between Darkness and Light

Between Darkness and Light

Disclaimers: I do not, and have never owned any part of Third Watch.

A/N: This was written at the end of last season as a follow-up to Monsters. Originally, it was a stand-alone piece that evolved into three parts due to the wonderful feedback from the readers at 55 David.

This one is especially dedicated to Faith in Faith and all those who work to heal the sick.

Enjoy

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I once tried to grow flowers from seed. I don't know what got into me because I didn't have enough room for Fred and the kids in the apartment and suddenly I needed to grow flowers from a seed.

So, I set up the pots and bought the soil and fertilizer and sowed the seeds. But despite my best efforts, I failed miserably at it. The plants grew too quickly and I over watered them and before I knew it, I had long, scraggly weed like flowers. They never did develop into anything meaningful but that's probably because I didn't put my heart into it and the best soil, fertilizer and seeds couldn't overcome my lack of motivation and talent.

When I look down at Bosco, lying helplessly in that bed, I can't help but think of those seeds. They had the best of everything and could not grow. Now, Bosco has so much stacked against him but I can't even imagine giving up on him.

The doctors and nurses tell me about the odds against him making it. They quote numbers and percentages. If there's one thing I know it's never bet against Bosco.

I can't bet against him even though my brain knows the machines are what are keeping him alive. But, when his fingers squeeze my hand, I felt his will to live. And no doctor or nurse explaining involuntary muscles spasms to me is going to convince me otherwise.

I look up at the clock on the wall; it reads 4:34 a.m. It's been almost 10 hours since he's been out of surgery and 6 hours and 18 minutes since he squeezed my hand. The doctor said the first 24 hours would be crucial, in other words they weren't expecting him to make it that far.

The nurses are in and out constantly, but I'm the one who needs to nurture Bosco and make sure he survives the next hour. None of them need him as much as I need him. None of them will feel the loss of a friend if he dies. None of them will lose a piece of themselves if he doesn't make it.

I lean over and apply some Vaseline to his lips to keep them from drying out and chapping with the breathing tube running out the side of his mouth. I remove the washcloth from the small basin on the table and wring it out before placing it on his forehead. I run my fingers over his arm, gauging the temperature of his skin. I watch the machines and monitors for any changes. I check his bandages for any sign of a haemorrhage and I sow the seeds of hope when I tell him how much I need him.

I lay my head on the bed as I intertwine my fingers in his. I allow my eyes to close, to recover from a sleepless night. I permit myself to doze off as long as I'm here by his side.

The fogginess that envelops my brain allows me some reprieve from the current reality by allowing dreams of better days to permeate my mind. None of the images are clear, just bits and pieces, faded and blurred by time and fatigue. Sounds and images meld to produce sensations strong enough to make me believe they are real. Enough to make believe we are not in this hospital room, and that Bosco is okay.

I awake with a start. Joy rushes through my veins at the thought of an unharmed Bosco waiting for me in the squad. My eyes search for him but instead I spin back around to find the elderly priest standing over us in silence.

A warm, soft hand is placed on my shoulder. It anchors me to this room, to this bed, to this reality. It forces me to hold this moment, because it is all I have.

I stare down at Bosco's hand and fear grips me as I think he may never squeeze my hand again. I turn it over and pull his fingers open until I expose his palm. I kiss it lightly and then more forcefully. I lay my cheek in it as though he is caressing me and I feel my tears slip out of the corners of my eyes.

I begin to doubt Bosco, to believe that the nurse was right, that it was a muscle spasm that caused his hand to grip mine. I begin to doubt myself because I alone cannot keep him alive. I begin to fall into despair before I notice the first tentative streams of light piercing through the city buildings and illuminating the room in a soft, yellow glow.

I squint against the light and the tears until I feel a hand closing over my hand, enclosing both Bosco and myself within its grasp.

The priest's whispered murmurings call to the light and I pray that someone is listening.

A nurse steps back into the room and stops at the side of the bed, she dares not break this spell, she dares not interrupt. I watch her as she slowly places her instruments on the table and quietly inches closer to Bosco. She looks up at the priest before placing her hands over Bosco and lovingly encouraging him to breathe on his own to open his eyes to squeeze my hand.

It all becomes too much for me. How could I doubt the entire world when others are so willing to give of themselves for Bosco? I begin to understand that some of those tiny, imperceptible seeds of hope that Bosco may have planted when he helped the victims that were entrusted to him are now coming back to him in his time of need, and in my time of need.

I watch the concentration on the faces of the priest and the nurse and I'm overwhelmed by their generosity. I am awed by their devotion towards my friend and partner. I am indebted to them forever when the sunbeams burst through the clouds and fill the room as Bosco's hand unmistakably closes in over mine.

I am too overjoyed to even speak, to tell them the good news, to thank them for what they've done. But I don't need to because they can feel it too and my heart fills with hope as they force my fear and despair into the shadows.

The End.


End file.
